The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
by HisNameIsPeter
Summary: John tries to teach Sherlock the meaning of Christmas when the pair gets wrapped up in a case right on Christmas Eve. Written for the 12 Days of Christmas Challenge.


**Happy Holidays! I'm very behind, but this story is for the 12 Days of Christmas Challenge. I hope you enjoy! Sorry for late updates, my life is so crazy with school and I just auditioned for "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown." I still hope to complete the challenge, though. If you don't know what that is, check out my profile to learn more. Give this challenge a try!**

**Standard disclaimer: Don't own anything you recognize, but do own two cats who are both pestering me for kitty treats.**

**-HisNameIsPeter**

It was December 22nd in London, England. The temperature had dropped into the low twenties and light flurries dotted the sky. Bright Christmas lights glowed all along Baker Street to prepare for the upcoming festivities.

John Watson quickened his pace as he strode along the icy pavement to 221B. Wishing he'd brought a heavier coat, he crossed the wet street and wiped his boots on the mat outside. Inside the top window, Mrs. Hudson had set out a small, colorful tree in hope of lifting tension in the flat.

Christmas spirit was little this year, as Sherlock Holmes' lack of cases had led to a foul attitude more intense than John could remember for a long while. Sad to say, his miserable mood had caught the others off guard. John had made it a point to end Sherlock's gloom before it ruined Christmas for everyone.

Mournful tunes drifted down the stairs. With a deep breath, the army doctor shoved open the door and glared at his flat mate.

Sherlock Holmes held his violin to his chin and let out a final minor chord before placing his bow on the desk and returning John's icy stare. John rolled his eyes and hung his coat.

"Has he been this way all day?" he asked Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen. She had cleared some of Sherlock's "experiments" off of the table and had a plate of biscuits and tea laid out for the doctor's return.

"I don't know what to do." She shook her head. "I offered pastries and several warm beverages, but he simply replied with a nasty note.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed. The detective paused his melody and turned to his flat mate. "Mrs. Hudson had been trying to help you, and what have you repaid her with? I believe you have something to say for yourself."

"You don't understand." He whispered through clenched teeth. "I _need_ a case."

"How about some cocoa?" Mrs. Hudson piped up. "To lift your spirits!"

"Mrs. Hudson, I am not a child." He snapped bitterly. "I don't need _cocoa_!"

"Oh, I'm sorry dear!"

Mrs. Hudson held her handkerchief to her nose and quietly left the room. Sherlock held up his violin and played a bitter harmony before John stopped him mid-note.

"Sherlock, it is nearly Christmas. I don't care if you have a case or not, I'm not going to let your sour person get in the way of my Christmas!"

Sherlock slouched in his chair with a pouty look on his face.

"Now," John softened his tone. "Lestrade, Agent Donovan, and Molly are all coming to celebrate with us and you are going to behave!"

"Christmas." Sherlock mumbled. "Need a case."

John sat down with his biscuits and tea and flipped open todays paper.

MURDER OF HOLIDAY ICON

Below was a long article over a shootout the previous night and a photograph of a man in a Santa Claus suit lying on the gray pavement.

"That spoiled brat." John muttered. "Sherlock!"

…

One army doctor and one "consulting detective" slid under a yellow strip of caution tape into a dark alleyway. The alley was squished between a mechanics shop called _Archie's Auto Repairs _and a candy store called _Kringle's_. Sherlock flipped up his collar and straightened his scarf while John lamely flattened wrinkles out of his sweater.

The body was horrific. The man was laying on his back, hand reaching out. A large bullet wound caused seeping blood all across the left side of his body. Scratch marks on the legs, John noted. The doctor supposed that the victim had been dragged.

"What've you got?" Lestrade asked as he snapped on a pair of blue gloves.

"Eighteen. No, thirteen. Nine. Seven. Four possibilities." Sherlock commented.

He walked away from the body and began to sniff the nearby dumpster. Lestrade raised his eyebrows and John simply shrugged.

"Killer's first mistake." Sherlock called. "Disposed of the weapon at the scene of the murder."

John followed his partner through a search to find the gun. John pulled out a black revolver, old fashioned with a silver barrel.

"Excellent."

Sherlock snatched the gun and headed towards Lestrade.

"Right now I know that the victim is right handed, judging by the notebook and pen in his dominant pocket and that he has a wife and two children. This man, 43 years old, 5 foot 12, and approximately 165 pounds, lives in the suburbs. He wore glasses in his teens, had knee surgery two years ago, and broke his nose when he was six."

"How could you possibly know that?" Lestrade chided.

"I'm not done." Sherlock ignored him. "This man has been in a lot of pain recently. Family loss, maybe? Ah, yes. This one's a nail-biter. Death of mother, most likely judging by the moistened thumb. This action reminds him of when he was a child. He likes remembering the past, seeing as he spends most of his time around children. He has chocolate around his mouth. Making cookies? I don't think so, this man is very lonely, and is that a scent of peppermint. Yes, Mr. Claus was trying to relive his youth in memory of his mother. He works in a widely traveled area along a highway," Sherlock nodded to the road across from where they were. "Kids, highway, peppermint. A bakery? I think not. Perhaps-"

Sherlock stood and walked away from the motionless corpse to the left side of the alley.

"A candy shop." Sherlock grinned.

John scribbled down the words in his notebook and ran after Sherlock, who had made his way around the corner to the front of the shop. As John caught up, his partner pointed to a sign beside the door. It had a picture of a smiling man in a Santa hat.

"John, meet Kris Kringle, our victim."

…

"I can't believe he's – he's dead."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the sobbing woman before him.

"Of course you can't. Now, instead of moping, why don't you be of use and tell us about your husband?"

Marian Kringle gulped. "Kris was a sweet guy. The kids love him. Everyone does. I can't see why anyone would want him dead!"

She burst into another explosion of tears.

"We're very sorry for your loss."

John nodded at Sherlock, who glared at him and then turned to Marian with a large fake smile.

"There, there."

John face palmed and, with an over-exaggerated eye roll, began to take notes in his journal.

"Mrs. Kringle, I imagine you don't get all your money from a candy store."

She took a deep breath. "Well, _Kringle's_ is very popular, but yes, I work as a school nurse."

"And, where do your children stay during the day?" John butted in.

"Nancy, our nanny, watches Alice and Greg while I'm away. Recently though, the kids have been staying at the shop with Kris. Nancy is having some sort of family problem; at least that's what I heard. Then last week, I took the kids on a weekend trip since I never got to see them, and Kris stayed at the shop. Said that he wanted to 'settle some businesses' with Archie, the owner next door. Then we got home yesterday and found out-"

"Thank you for your time Mrs. Kringle. Now, please leave."

The woman gathered her purse up and left, sniffling as she went. Sherlock slammed the door to the flat and began to pace.

"Was that really necessary?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "I think that made everyone feel uncomfortable. I believe I did what was best. She is clearly is worried. Not upset, worried. I must find out why, and fast. I need to finish before Christmas Eve."

John raised his eyebrows. "Why is that?"

"I don't want to disrupt your party."

Sherlock winked and snatched his coat.

"He really is getting in the Christmas spirit, isn't he?" Mrs. Hudson noted. "Going with him?"

John nodded and set down his tea.

"Silly boys." Mrs. Hudson shook her head with a laugh.

John shot her a cocky grin and chased after his partner.

…

"We're missing something."

John sighed. "I'll bite – why is that?"

"Think about it John. A man, loved by all, is found dead beside his own shop while his family is on vacation."

"Why don't we talk to that Archie guy?"

Sherlock shook his head in disapproval. "It's no use, it's not him."

John began to speak, but Sherlock cut him off and motioned for him to follow him. They caught a cab across town to _Kringle's _and Sherlock walked inside. The door was unlocked, yet a 'CLOSED' sign hung in the door.

The shop was festive inside, with a large Christmas tree. Garland hung around the ceiling and a small wreath dangled above the counter. Jars of candy lined the walls, treats of all different shapes and colors. Chocolate, peppermint, caramel, and many more flavors of fudge could be seen in the glass case below the counter. A scent of sweetness filled the air.

Sherlock ducked behind the counter and inspected the candy. He peered into cabinets and drawers, then beckoned for John to follow him into the kitchen. The kitchen smelled musty with a small oven and fridge in one corner and a sink, dishwasher, and stove in the other. John ran his finger down the spines of large cookbooks and peeked into several bins beneath the cabinets.

"Well, John, it appears there is more to our victim that meets the eye."

Sherlock held out a large bottle of with a skull etched across it.

"Cyanide."

John's eyes widened. "Was he putting any in the candy?"

"I don't know, but I think we should get Lestrade down here now."

John pulled out his phone while Sherlock ventured through the back door into a large room. There were two beds in a corner and a small desk. Huddled in the corner were two figures.

"Please don't hurt us."

The voice was that of a little boy. Then a girl's voice spoke up.

"Are you a terrorist?"

Sherlock smirked. "You must be Alice and Greg. No, I'm not a terrorist. I'm trying to find out who violently murdered your father."

The boy stepped out of the shadows. His small face was pale and thin. The kid was short and scrawny; a little too scrawny.

"John!" Sherlock called his loyal partner.

John rushed into the room. "Lestrade is on his way. Sherlock, I think I found-"

John paused as he examined the children. "Sherlock, are these-"

"Marian's kids. All alone. I don't think a mother would leave their kids alone after a tragedy like this, do you?"

"Unless the mother is hiding something."

Just then, Lestrade burst through the door. "The fingerprints on the gun are a match for Archie Cooper. Victim found next to his store, matching murder weapon, and I heard that Kris accused him of trying to kidnap the kids. Possible motive? I think we've got our killer."

"Does Archie Cooper keep lethal and illegal poison in his candy store?" Sherlock wondered aloud.

"What?"

"Lestrade," John nodded at the kids.

He froze. "I should get Agent Donovan in here."

Sherlock started pacing around the room. "Maybe it's time to chat with Archie Cooper."

…

"The gun used to murder Kris has your fingerprints on it."

"Hey!" Archie Cooper held his hands up in surrender. "I'll admit, that's my gun, but it went missing last week when I babysat the Kringle kids. And, I have a license. Me, Kris, and Marian always went hunting together."

"Kris, Marian, and I." Sherlock corrected. He sat down beside John at the table and leaned over towards Archie.

"So, you are telling me that one of these children stole your gun." He gestured outside to where Sally was talking with the children and another woman in high heels.

"No!" he exclaimed. "Well, I mean, it's possible, but why would-"

He was cut off as Molly ran into the room with her clipboard.

"Molly, we are in the middle of an interrogation!"

"Oh." Archie frowned. "That's what this is?"

"I'm sorry Sherlock, but-"

"Are you accusing me of murder?" Archie demanded.

"Hmm." Sherlock pondered. "It's quite possible, but-"

"Everyone shut up!" John shouted. Everyone grew silent.

John took a deep breath. "What is it Molly?"

"Well," She began, glancing at Sherlock. "After I finished the autopsy, I concluded that the cause of Kris' death was poison, not gun shot."

Not one word was spoken. John exchanged a look with Sherlock.

"Molly," Sherlock said finally. "Could this possibly be, Cyanide?"

"That sounds about right. Why?"

Sherlock stood up and pushed the door open. John nodded at Molly politely and rushed after him.

"Did you steal this gun from Archie Cooper?"

"Sherlock!" John ran over the where his partner was flashing the gun in the faces of two frightened children.

"No!" Alice pleaded. "We didn't. Well, I didn't!"

She turned slowly to Gregory.

"Greg?" she whispered.

The little boy burst into tears. "Mommy told me too!"

Sally ran over just as Sherlock pocketed the gun and stormed out of the room. "What the – Mr. Holmes!"

John ran after Sherlock who was prancing down the stairs.

"Sherlock!"

"Get Lestrade and a team out. We're looking for Marian Kringle."

…

It wasn't long before Lestrade called Sherlock to say that they'd gotten a hit on the far side of London. John and Sherlock caught a taxi all the way to St. Moffat's Church where Lestrade and his team met them.

"Well, we found her. Case closed." Lestrade mumbled as Sherlock got out of the car.

"What do you mean?" John questioned. Sherlock shot Lestrade a suspicious look but said nothing.

Inside the church, Marian Kringle was hanging from a rope from the highest pillar. A note on a blue page was clutched in her hand.

"Suicide." Sherlock murmured. "They lowered the body to the ground were John gave a quick examination.

"She did it herself. Look at the rope burns on her right hand."

Sherlock nodded and read the note out loud.

_Dear Kris,_

_I murdered you. After your mother died, your actions became violent around the children. It was an accident. I didn't know that the cyanide would kill you. To whoever finds me, tell the children that I loved them and that this is for your own safety. I'm coming to be with you Kris. You and your mother._

_With love, _

_Marian_

"How very merry." Lestrade grumbled. "Now, when was that Christmas party, again?"

…

Sherlock strung out the final note of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" on his violin, earning applause from everyone else. Mrs. Hudson carried out a plate of tea and cookies, earning nods of thanks from the merry visitors. John had at last convinced Sherlock to put up a live evergreen strung with tinsel and colorful balls. The group had placed gifts for the others underneath the tree.

"Ready for presents?" John announced.

Everyone grinned and laughed as the others opened their gifts. John got a Christmas sweater from Molly, who got a gift card from Mrs. Hudson. Sally had gotten a new coat from John and Mrs. Hudson received a cookbook from the police detective. Everyone laughed when Lestrade opened his _Forensics: For Dummies _book from Sherlock.

"Sherlock, we all pitched in to get this for you!"

John pulled the last box out from beneath the tree and handed it to Sherlock. The detective raised his eyebrows and untied the ribbon, tearing open the red wrapping paper. Inside the box was none other than – a brand new hat.

Sherlock smirked and everyone began chanting for him to put it on, which he earned applause for doing.

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock." John said.

Sherlock smiled back at him and pulled out his ringing phone. He stepped aside and answered.

"Help me!" A voice cried. "Please!"

"Excuse me, but who is this?"

"You don't have much time Sherlock. He'll be there soon."

The phone clicked off.

"What's wrong, Sherlock?" John asked his puzzled friend.

The detective broke into a grin. "Christmas or not, we have a job to do."

"What do you mean?"

"The game, Dr. Watson, is on."


End file.
